


The Dealer Remembers More Than the Man

by WritingQuill



Series: (30) Days of Johnlock [22]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Alley fight, Case Fic, Crime Fighting, Friendship, Gen, Giggling at a crime scene, Running
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:03:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingQuill/pseuds/WritingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day twenty-two: in battle</p><p>Sherlock and John find themselves in a bit of a situation after a figure from Sherlock's past remembers him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dealer Remembers More Than the Man

Rain fell in sheets, thumping loudly as it hit the ground. Thunder echoed through the walls and lightening crashed making it look for a split of a second like it was daylight. The corners of the back alleys were dirty, filled with mud and soot and remains of food packagings. The smells were even worse at this part of town, like dirty unimaginable things, urine and vomit. The homeless were scattered everywhere, looking for shelter from the storm. It was dark and ominous, scary even at times. The sound of their steps were swallowed by the rain, their heavy breaths clouded in front of their mouths as they ran for their lives. 

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were deep in danger. And it was completely unrelated to the case they were currently working on — the one involving a distinguished MP and a gun trafficking ring. They jumped behind some bins to hide out from the thugs chasing them. Their heavy steps ran past them and faded in the distance. 

John turned to Sherlock, his face filled with annoyance and anger, ‘I thought you said this case had nothing to do with drugs!’ he hissed. 

‘It doesn’t,’ Sherlock replied in a whisper. ‘But it seems that my old drug dealer has changed professions. The homeless network let me know a few years ago that he had stopped dealing, but they failed to inform that he switched to much more dangerous and rewarding activities.’ 

John snapped his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. He counted from one to ten to try and calm down, but it didn’t work. The rain falling hard on his wounded shoulder and soaking through his clothes was not helping. 

‘You’re telling me that Ian Frisco used to be your drug dealer? How the hell did you not know it was him when we entered the fucking lion’s den? And why the fuck did he send those bloody giants after us within two second of looking at you?’ 

Sherlock sighed, put his head out and looked around to check for the thugs. They really were gone. His shoulder sagged, and he seemed tired for the first time in a case. John was a mix of concerned and angry. 

‘I used to know him as Stingray, since the drug dealers hardly ever use their real names, so it was indeed also a surprise for me to see that he was the man we were looking for. And as to why he chased us, well… Mycroft may have had something to do with it. I believe he put his drug dealing business to a stop after I got clean and started helping the Scotland Yard.’ 

‘So, this incredibly powerful and fully armed Tony Montana criminal was forced out of the drug business by your brother years ago, and now he’s being hunted by your brother again for his gun trafficking,’ John laid out, trying to make sense of this ridiculous situation. ‘Did Mycroft know all this when he gave you the case?’ 

Sherlock seemed to ponder, though his pensive expression looked a lot more pathetic with his hair glued to his forehead and the heavy rain making it hard for him to keep his eyes open for more than two seconds. 

‘Perhaps, I’m not entirely sure. Frisco was not in with the big leagues when he was dealing, so something must have happened after he… Oh. Oh! John, you’re brilliant!’ Sherlock stood up and did his jump-bounce-thing that he did when he had a sudden case-related epiphany. 

‘What did I say?’ John stood up as well. He just wanted to go home, take a warm relaxing bath and have a sit down with a steaming cuppa and some Mock the Week, was that too much to ask? 

‘Mycroft didn’t know that he was Stingray, he didn’t know they were related at all. Ian Frisco was virtually inexistent as a drug dealer, he didn’t have thugs were anything, he was just a scrawny little man who made drugs in his flat. But I remember now that one of his clients was one of the big drug dealers. He would buy from Frisco and sell it to minor celebrities, government people, the works. So Frisco probably got the names of these people, one of them had some relation with Lord Wattingford, which helped him start his business was trafficking weapons into the country behind the eyes of the law. Of course! And now that a politician is involved, he’s getting bigger, becoming a truly mastermind in the criminal world, so Mycroft had to notice. Ah, this is good…’ 

John rolled his eyes. Only Sherlock could find any part of this situation good in any way. He was stopped from voicing his thoughts by a yell, though. The thugs had returned, they were running towards them. Sherlock and John exchanged looks and started running again, faster this time since the rain had decided to stop for a bit. The thugs were even faster, though, and they had friends now. 

‘We should call Lestrade!’ shouted John, over the sounds of thunder. Sherlock didn’t reply, he was probably doing the totally unsafe yet necessary texting-while-running thing he did sometimes. That was good, they’d have back-up soon. Right? Another gulp. John was really glad he brought extra ammo tonight, they might actually need it. 

They were now surrounded by a group of the meanest, largest men John had ever seen outside of a war zone. They were all either large or tall, muscular and angry-looking. John took his Sig out from the back of his trousers and pointed at the Big Guy in front of him. Big Guy smirked. 

‘Six against two,’ said Sherlock. ‘That’s hardly fair, gentlemen.’ 

‘Sherlock,’ John hissed. They were back-to-back, so John couldn’t see what Sherlock was doing, but it was probably one of those smug faces he had, which meant they were going to get in trouble really soon. 

Shame, John had a date tomorrow night. Oh, well. 

‘I’d say more one and a half against six, eh, lads?’ suggested Big Guy, then he winked at John, and it was almost enough for John to put a bullet through his left eye. He didn’t. 

A few more minutes of the most tense staring contest in the world, and one of the thugs attacked Sherlock, followed by two others. That left John with the other three, then. Big Guy and Two Slightly Smaller Yet Still Reasonably Large Guys. 

If one were to look for the definition of “not good” on the dictionary, the predicament John found himself in at this very moment would be right there. 

Big Guy charged at him, punching his gun away, not that it would have made much of a difference with such large guys. John punched him back, square on the jaw, making Big Guy fall backwards with a wince. Guy #1 was next, followed by Guy #2, one punched John’s stomach while the other held his arms so they could do it again. Oh, that would not do at all. 

John swayed a bit to get momentum and kicked Guy #1 right on the nose. He stumbled backwards just as Big Guy was standing up. Then John hit the back of his head on the nose of Guy #2, who let him go with a cry. John punched Big Guy again, with more force this time, because a 5’7” bloke did not survive army training without being extra strong. As Big Guy and Other Two Guys took a few seconds, John turned to see how Sherlock was dealing with his share of the thugs. He was really agile and good at various different types of martial arts — and Brazilian street fighting due to a case they had to work on, for which John also learned the art of Capoeira. 

So at that moment, Sherlock had one of his guys unconscious, but was still working the other two. With a proud smirk, John turned to his share and charged against Big Guy, elbowing him on the stomach right when the guy was reaching for his neck. John decided to play dirty, so he head-butted the guy and kicked him right in the balls. Big Guy fell backwards, screaming in pain, leaving John with a slightly dizzy Guy #1 and a bloody Guy #2. 

*

‘That was… ridiculous…’ said John from his seat at the back of the ambulance. Sherlock, sitting next to him nodded and winced as the EMT tended his injured forehead. 

‘Fun, though,’ added Sherlock. John chuckled. 

‘Really? That’s your idea of fun?’ asked John, turning an amused smile towards the alley where they had their fight. Sherlock shrugged. 

‘As if you can tell me it isn’t yours, too.’ 

John looked back at Sherlock fondly, then sighed. ‘God bless me, but yes. It is. We’re both mental, aren’t we?’ 

Sherlock and John exchanged a glance. It was merely a second before they burst into giggles again.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song 'Tragic Magic' by The View (whose concert I'm going to attend at the 22nd of June, thank you very much)
> 
> Bit of a fighting story, nothing to it, really. Is it pre-slash? I don't think so. But it reminds a bit of the Sherlock Casebook, where there's Sherlock's post-it note saying that the Pool night was the most fun night they've had or something, and John simply replied with a 'yes'. I imagine these two are pretty wild in their ideas of a fun time, so... 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked it, and thank you for reading! As always, give me a shout on tumblr ([bagginswatson](http://bagginswatson.tumblr.com/)) if you feel like it, or leave a comment here. 
> 
> Cheers x


End file.
